


Wish

by KorrohShipper



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Comfort, Domestic, F/M, Married!Steggy, Mind warping, Not A Fix-It, Steggy - Freeform, Whammied!Peggy, djinn, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: 16 years after theValkyriewent down, Peggy suddenly woke up in bed to the smell of breakfast and she's married to Steve.She's fairly certain that somethings is terribly, horribly wrong. But how could something be so wrong when she's in the arms of the man she loves?
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Edwin Jarvis, Peggy Carter & Howard Stark, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, past Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> I only found out that Steggy Secret Santa has begun and I am beyond devastated that I didn't get a chance to enter (what not with college and all that). To remedy my burst for imagination for writing, I decided to do this instead.

**New York City, New York**   
**December 25, 1961**

* * *

“You’re leaving.”

Peggy nodded. The world that laid before her wasn’t hers, and no matter how much she wanted to stay in it, the world that was so achingly like the future she once thought she’d forfeited when allowed Steve the dignity of his choice.

A sad smile played on Steve’s lips. “I’m in your head, aren’t I?”

Peggy choked back on a sob. She couldn’t trust herself or her words, so instead she nodded.

Steve slumped back on a chair—his favorite chair that she now realized was the corner loveseat in her office that reminded her of the very same shade of blue that twinkled in his eyes in the sun.

“Off to save the world, huh?”

“Only because it needs so much saving, my darling.” It felt weird, talking to a version of Steve that her subconscious had produced. But it felt comforting, seeing him before her, even if she looked her age and him the very same as the day she lost him to the waves.

Steve smiled with that same, unending charm. He looked out the window. “How are you going to get back?”

“This is an illusion. A dream—one has to break the dream by finding what shouldn’t belong in reality.”

Realization flashed on his face. “The Valkyrie was found and the wreckage is about to be integrated in the Stark museum’s exhibit on me. . .Captain America.” He stuttered along the last lines. “The curator of the museum, he’s the one you have to go to, right?”

“Yes. Daniel Sousa has a limp and a metal crutch in real life, here, however, he’s in full control of his limbs.”

Steve glanced at the pictures. She realized, as she looked closely to the picture of their daughter, it looked like the photograph of Sarah Rogers on his file for Project Rebirth. Their middle son, Michael, was the spitting image of his namesake, while their youngest, James, was Steve all over.

It was an illusion. A painfully accurate reconstruction of the life Peggy knew to herself, in her heart of hearts, would have moved heaven and earth to have a chance at.

“After this, when you get back, _this_ will be gone?” he stared at the door, and there was already a nagging feeling as white light seeped through the cracks that the minute she walked through those doors, he would cease to be real. The reality she's been living relies solely on what she imagines to be her life with Steve in it—knowing it wasn't real helped crack the facade. 

“It will. I’m sorry.”

He laughed mirthfully, but it is without contempt. “You can’t apologize for erasing something that didn’t exist in the first place, Peg. That’s not your burden to bear.”

“Still,” she let her hand linger on his cheek, remember what warmth that coursed under her palm. She willed his image be burned into her mind, or the pulse that beat under his skin into her heart. Anything.

“Do you have to leave now?” Steve asked instead, changing the topic.

“Time moves differently here. The sooner I leave, the better. I need to stop Leviathan and Hydra.”

“Look, I know there’s no tomorrow on this, no dancing in the Stork Club, no 8 o’clock on the dot.” But he stepped closer. “But if this is as close as we can get to that second chance, that date we never got, then maybe it’s my way of giving and getting closure.”

“Steve?”

“If this is my last night with you, then let’s make the most of it.”

“I can’t.”

He looked shattered. “The minute you walk out those doors, I will be gone.” He said truthfully. “If I can’t be with you, then at least let me give you a memory we can both hold on to.” He lead her to their room, letting the brightness of the room fade into the darkness as he closed the door of their bedroom.

His hands covered her hands. “Just one last time.” Steve’s eyes briefly met hers and took a step back. “But only if you want to.”

Peggy swallowed and tearfully pressed her lips against her. She fumbled with the zipper, letting her dress pool to the ground around her feet. Steve’s breath hitched and he looked to the ceiling, his tears now shining, like he’s afraid if he looks down again, the dream will all but fade away.

Instead, she remained. Peggy took his hands, tugging at his arm.

“Then let’s make it a memory worth remembering.”


	2. CHAPTER I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is it with you and flying in restricted airspaces for unauthorized missions?”
> 
> “Top brass who undermine my value.”

**Restricted Air Space in East Berlin, Soviet Germany**   
**December 12, 1961**

* * *

“What is it with you and flying in restricted airspaces for unauthorized missions?”

“Top brass who undermine my value.”

Howard gave her a look. He looked like he wanted to say more but a green light shone upon them in the cockpit of the small DC-3 that he owned. It was only by a stroke of luck that they managed to smuggle herself out of the country to get as close as they could to the iron gate blocking off East Berlin.

“Well, you know how the transponder works.” Howard offered casually, nearing the plane to a formidable altitude that gave a significant cover of clouds in the dead of night.

“Quite.” She replied briskly, her eyes now teetering to the door that separated her from the sky and the metal sheets of the plane that shook furiously against the rough winds.

“Is it too late to convince you to go back and enjoy a night at Lucerne and fondue for old time’s sake?” a pang of hurt reached her, remembering the last time they had been like this, flying in the dead of the night without the permission of their superiors, they were still fighting a war and Steve was still alive.

Now the war was over for more than fifteen years, but they were still fighting the grasping, shadowy hands that lurked in the dark. The biggest difference was that light of Steve’s heart was gone.

“I’m afraid bread and cheese won’t do, not when lives are at stake, Howard.”

Howard deflated, but he continued the course. “Worth a shot.” He muttered under his breath, mustache decidedly sad.

It was with a great silence and a heavy tension that hung in the air when Peggy noticed a change in her friend’s demeanor. His silence, while blessedly blissful, was only present when a difficult question hung.

“Does Danny know?”

And difficult the question hung in the air like dirty laundry that refused to settle down.

Peggy stiffened at the mention. Daniel had become more of a tricky and sore subject to broach and not even the skillful evasion of Mr. Jarvis could manage to ease the growing tension that sparked between the lot whenever the name was mentioned.

The marriage ended the way it began—in spectacular flames. Divorce was a messy business she's yet to conquer, and while she still truly cared for him, it was obvious in the little ways of how they both grew apart, that marriage simply wasn’t becoming for the both them, at least not for her.

“No. At least not in the personal capacity.” Daniel was, still, her colleague and a member of SHIELD after they—Howard, Chet Phillips, and herself—founded the agency. It appeared that, even with the mutual promise of awkward aversion of gazes, the need for competent agents far outweighed the discomfort.

“Officially?”

“He knows the request for the mission was shut down by the brass in DC. Which lead us here, you flying your plane to Berlin so that we could stop Hydra and their plans, once and for all.”

It had been a difficult November, what with the divorce and all, but personal matters aside, Peggy found it difficult to be in a festive mood, despite Ana Jarvis’ and Angie’s respective efforts to make the season much merrier, when an undercover agent telegrammed the office.

Agent Diane Hartley, a fellow Englishwoman, had been assigned a mission to crack one of the codes exchanged under the shadows that lurked behind the Berlin Wall.

Diane had wired that September morning, the message stood out.

“BIOLOGICAL WEAPON. EASTERN ARTIFACT FOUND. DJINN—” the message was cut off. It was only a few weeks later when the body of her agent was found washed up along the banks of the Rhine. Her veins popped out with a vibrant blue and eyes stared at the sky, lifeless and gone.

“How long do you think you’ll be away?” he shouted casually, as if he was expecting her for lunch right after.

“I’m not sure.” She answered truthfully. “But I hope to be home by Christmas.”

Howard had that panicked look again. “The kids know?”

Her stomach churned painfully. Peggy’s tried her best to shield them from everything that’s been happening. “No. But I’m hoping that maybe Daniel and I could hold down the fort, even just for Christmas—it’s Christmas, for crying out loud. Maybe one last holiday together, as a family.”

“And after that?” he asked pointedly.

“Well, Michael’s already suspicious, what with Daniel sleeping at the apartment, showing up only after I've left for the office. It's bound to be noticed. It’s Stephanie I’m worried about. She’s young, I don’t want her to get hurt by the entire ordeal.”

“It’s not like he’s never going to see them. He’s a good father, you know.” Howard mused, a hint of harrumph in his voice, almost like he gave the compliment begrudgingly. Howard never did like Daniel—her husband had never approved of the millions of dollars Howard allocated for his yearly expeditions to the arctic.

“Yes, but a divorce hardly does wonders for the children.” She grimaced, pressing her hand against a locket that hung over her neck. It was of the children, when hey were younger. “They’re the innocents in the ordeal.”

“Well, you know you and the kids are always welcome by the manor—or, maybe we could go to Montauk, take that cabin for a spin! God knows I bought it for a reason!”

Peggy appreciated the little effort to lift the atmosphere, the green radar light as an exit was more of a welcome distraction. She braced her equipment and gave Howard a small smile. “I’ll see you on the other side, Howard.” She shouted, gripping the door frame before staring down.

“Call before Christmas! Maria’s been dying to see you again, and there's something I need your help with!”

“I’ll try.” Peggy shouted over the noise, a sense of honesty coming over her. Maria was a good woman, certainly better than those Howard usually kept around himself. Maria had a good head on her shoulders, a sensible woman who knew when to push his buttons or to leave him alone, someone who could read the room and understand the secrets that plagued its occupants.

“I still need your help, pal, so don’t be late!”

Peggy tried not to frown, the word having a completely different meaning. But she didn’t answer—instead, she jumped into the unknown.


	3. CHAPTER II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nagging feeling she that kept buggering her soon faded into the back of her mind. How could something be so wrong when she’s in the arms of the man she loves?

**New York City, New York**   
**December 12, 1961**

* * *

Peggy woke up to a soft bed, the smell of pancakes and bacons that wafted all the way to her room, and finally a kiss to the nook of her neck.

A deep voice sounded, soothing and familiar. Safe and right. “Good morning, beautiful.” Steve gave her a smile, pressing another kiss on her temple as she turned, a smile on her face.

If her husband was any indicator, her morning was off to a good start. “Steve?” a small nagging feeling began to churn in her stomach, but it obviously did not go unnoticed as Steve’s brows furrowed.

_Something’s wrong._

Steve, however, grabbed a small waste bin and handed it over to her, pushing aside a tray of food that appeared on the foot of the bed. “Little fella acting up?” he asked sheepishly, worry evident in his eyes as she took the bucket cautiously.

But she didn’t answer, instead, Steve took a small plate from the tray. It held a cinnamon roll. “The rolls always sat well with you, right? Back when you were pregnant with James and Sarah?”

 _Pregnant_ , her mind supplied. Her eyes teetered to the edge of the bed where a pile of pregnancy books sat. They had just found out. She was only on her sixth week, not very far along.

Taking the roll from her hand, he took to her side and threw an arm over her shoulder, tugging her closer to him to the point where the scent of the roll mixed with the smell of the sharp and minty soap he always used during the war.

“The kids?” she found herself asking, a familiar set of faces bombarding her mind. Her children. With Steve. Her family.

Steve smiled and hummed, his chest vibrating wonderfully. “Drove them to school, it was on the way.” There was a tinge of cheer to his voice that was so obvious. The rolls weren’t on the way to school, he had gone out of his way to buy them for her.

A wave of nausea hit her and abruptly dropped the roll and ducked straight for the bin beside the bed. There she lurched and emptied her stomach until the nausea rode out, leaving her exhausted and drained.

“Why did we ever try for another one?”

There was another laugh from Steve.

 _Right_. They weren’t trying.

Baby number four was a courtesy of the seaside cottage that Howard owned on Montauk. She could still remember the smirk he gave them as a set of keys were tossed over in their direction. It was that gleam in his eyes that shone brightly.

“Take a break.”

Little did she know, in the course of a short weekend, she’d end up leaving the cottage with a little something than what she came with. Their little one, all of 6 weeks, made a sporting appearance just by the bed of her stomach.

She groaned.

“After the first delivery, it’s truly a wonder why I ever let you back in the bed.”

“You do know that you’re welcome to say no anytime, right?” he teased, only marred by a sense of seriousness, before allowing her to settle back into the small crook of his arm before his hand curled by her waist.

“I’m only teasing, you know.”

“I know, but I’m serious.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I know that pregnancy’s hard on your job, and I know that it’s taking a toll on your body.” He let his head fall to her side.

“Do you not want another baby?”

He smiled. “Of course, I do.” He lifted her hand and gingerly pressed a kiss on the back of hers. “I mean, I thought we’re over the morning feeding and the late night diaper change, but it’s our life. It’s only ever yours and mine, and how could I ever say no to that?”

Peggy pivoted in her wake and turned so she could face him. She reached up, her lips meeting his, and they stayed in that moment, in the quiet peace of their morning. But she let her hand fall to her stomach, where soon a manifestation of their child would form.

She gingerly smiled at the spot, remembering the swelling that progressed during her previous pregnancies. “This baby will far outweigh any discomfort, perceived or real.”

“Even those swollen ankles?”

She laughed out loud. “Are you saying I can’t handle swollen ankles?”

Steve’s eyes crinkled, his smooth skin not quite breaking the way it should with their age. “You?” he echoed. “You’d probably set a world record or something or end up saving the world with your swollen ankles.”

“Flatterer.”

“Only because it’s true.” He gave her a bright, toothy smile, like the ones he gave on those USO tours around the country, along with a small salute. “Ole Captain America can’t lie, ma’am, it’s against his very fibre of being.”

Peggy couldn’t fight off her smile. “Even when Steve Rogers from Brooklyn became Steve Rogers from _Paramus_? Or _New Jersey_? Or _Queens_?”

Steve paused, his brows furrowed. “That’s. . .that doesn’t count.”

Peggy crowed happily. “Would you care to explain why?”

“I, er—I _plead the fifth_?”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny—”

There was a twinkle of playfulness in her eyes as she hit his shoulder. He yelped in response. “That’s not an answer.”

Breaking in bouts of laughter, ticklish beyond reproach, Steve shuddered involuntarily. “I give! I give!”

Peggy wanted to keep the moment to herself. It amazed her how her husband, a hulking mass of muscles and bones, a formidable force in the battle field. One of the most decorated military strategists and tacticians the army has ever beheld, and yet he crumpled under her fingers as he collapsed into a laughing fit.

A twirl of hair fell to his face, a silly smile on his face.

“I love you.”

A palpable sense invaded her, like a quick blur that moved around her, but it vanished faster than it came. When her senses came back, she found herself still in Steve’s arms.

The nagging feeling she that kept buggering her soon faded into the back of her mind. How could something be so wrong when she’s in the arms of the man she loves?


	4. CHAPTER III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy peeked into the bundle. Her son’s ears stood out, like his father’s.
> 
> Her son inherited those ears—

**New York City, New York**   
**December 14, 1961**

* * *

The office felt different.

Nothing was too different from her memory—the elevator still creaked every time it stopped on her floor and the coffee machine inside the break room still sported the unrepentant “Out of Order” sign that hung just around its base.

The bullpen still held the same number of desks, one just facing the window by the north wall, and the reception desk was still the disguised telephone directory that she grew to love and hate.

But there was something new that she couldn’t quite point out, something different in the hall of fallen agents, something too different to be left unnoticed.

Everything felt, in a way, impassioned, vividly filled with life and a pride that she couldn’t quite place elsewhere before.

And it all—

“Ma’am!”

The elevator doors surged open once more and Peggy blinked when a woman stepped in, relief on her face when she caught up to her. “Director Rogers, City Hall’s been on hold since this morning trying to reach you.”

Her brows knotted. “City Hall?” she echoed. “Whatever for?”

The woman looked genuinely confused. “The exhibit, ma’am. For the anniversary.” The words played out slowly, like an echoing force in her ear. In her mind played a short audio reel, a narrator voicing out the valiant sacrifice made by one soldier whose orders weren’t to be good soldier, but instead, a good man.

But as quickly as the thought came, it perished.

“The office of the VA, ma’am, left a call wondering when you would be available for an interview for the Captain America exhibit. They were looking to launch it before the anniversary of Colonel Roger’s return.”

The doors opened and revealed a new section of halls.

An executive array of wooden panels lined the walls before it shifted to a set of doors. Peggy found herself inside her office, her secretary looming behind her like a lost puppy trailing its master for new orders.

“When am I free?”

The woman consulted a clipboard, fingers stopped in its track at the second page before she faced her again. “Wednesday at nearest, ma’am.” Her secretary looked at her expectantly. “When should I pencil them in?”

There was a nagging voice in the back of her mind that refused to be dismissed. It was rather surprising, as a result, when she spoke up, “Who’s going to interview me?”

Her secretary was caught off guard. She searched through the clipboard with quick flicks of the pages and only sighed in relief when a name was found. “In-house personnel of the museum, ma’am. The agency’s checked his background—former soldier, actually was rescued by Colonel Rogers during the war.”

“Their name?”

“Daniel Sousa, ma’am.”

Her eyes widened.

Peggy’s mind flashed with memories before her.

There were flashes of a man, tanned skin, curled black hair, and his ears—

_Peggy smiled, despite the sweat and the fatigue. It didn’t matter. Her son was in her arms. Daniel entered the room, his mouth caught half-open, like he had been planning to say something but whatever it was, it died off in his thoughts when he saw his son._

_Peggy peeked into the bundle. Her son’s ears stood out, like his father’s_.

 _Her son inherited those ears_ —

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“Should I tell the VA to reschedule the appointment?”

She plastered a smile on her face, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No. That wouldn’t be necessary. Wednesday is fine. Have them set up in the conference room by then.”

Her secretary did a double take, eyes squinted at her warily. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

Peggy paused, for a moment and sighed. She looked at him, taking in the atmosphere around her, trying to catch a semblance of what was right. She wasn’t having much luck as her mind continued to swivel and pivot in disagreeing turns.

“I’m quite fine, just a bit dizzy, actually. Thank you, er. . .” she tilted her head to a side, the name not quite reaching the tip of her tongue.

The woman in front of her let out a breathy chuckle. “O’Brien, ma’am. Colleen O’Brien.”

The smile on her face dropped, for a moment, when she disappeared behind her door—

_Colleen was in bed, she wasn’t supposed to be a victim, but her fingers trembled all the same when she pulled back on the blanket that covered her face._

_Peggy’s heart hammered against her chest for the sight that waited to greet her._

_A bullet, planted just between her eyes_ —

“Colleen!”

In just a few seconds, there was a knock on her door. “Director?”

“Have the medbay ready."

"For who?

"Me. And do call Howard. _Now_.”


	5. CHAPTER IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You imagine your life without them?” he asked softly, “Your family?”
> 
> She shuddered at the thought. “Never.”
> 
> “Exactly.” He surmised. “You’ve got this amazing life, Peg. And you’re scared of losing it all—the kid’s got your nerves up in a bundle.”

**New York City, New York**   
**December 14, 1961**

* * *

When Howard walked inside the medical examination room with a toddler in hand, Peggy was fairly certain that she had seen everything.

A warm smile and gentle tone, Howard Stark proved to be many things, but Peggy never once thought that being a father would be added to his long list of titles.

“Tony, why don’t you go get a juice box from nurses’ ward? I’ll just talk to your Aunt Peg, yeah?” the boy, Anthony, nodded eagerly before bolting out the door like a bullet fired from a gun.

“Howard?” she managed to squeak out. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was delusional or if something was entirely wrong.

Howard, however, was unfazed and grabbed the clipboard at the base of her bed, flipping through the reports with a thoughtful look. “Everything seems to be fine,” he mulled over one particular page far too long than expected.

“There’s got to be something wrong.” She added quickly. “I’ve been, er, seeing _things_.”

Almost immediately, Howard’s thoughtful look faded with a mischievous smile. “Well, you’re certainly _seeing_ things, pal.” He smirked before taking a page out of the clipboard and handing it over to her. The technical jargon of it made her head hurt, but the familiar phrases on the bottom made her understand.

“Exhaustion and dehydration?”

“Yeah. Just rest up and drink more fluids, and you’ll be fine.” His eyes filtered towards her stomach with a pleased, much more sincere pleasant look. “I’m happy for you and Steve. The blood tests show that everything’s just fine, a but high with the pressure, but that tends to happen with pregnancies for our age bracket.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ever one to make me feel good about myself.”

Howard belted out a chuckle. “Well, let it be said that the good ole Howard Stark does not lie.”

But the atmosphere sobered up as quickly as it lightened. “But truly, there’s nothing wrong?”

The scans were once again consulted and the same blank, somewhat confused expression greeted her. “Nothing here says anything out of the ordinary, Peggy.”

“The brain scans?”

A dark, translucent paper was held against the light. Howard shook his head. “Brain activity’s normal. You’re in tip-top health, Peg.”

Peggy fell back to the bed and she couldn’t help but get the restlessness wreck her nerves. “Something’s wrong.” Howard took a seat and placed it near her side. “I could just feel it, Howard, in my bones. It’s screaming at me, telling me that something’s incredibly wrong.”

“Trust your instinct.”

Peggy would have wanted to say that she did trust her instincts. But there was a hammering in her heart, a disappearing flux that refused to steady itself. “I’m afraid I can’t quite do that now.”

That got Howard’s attention. His eyebrows were curled up and he frowned.

“You always trust your instincts. How’d this any different.”

“Because—” she swallowed. _Because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll see something I’d rather not have discovered_. “Because I’m not sure, Howard.”

“Have you talked to Steve about this?”

“No.”

Howard took another look at the charts. “How can you tell that something’s wrong.”

“I see things, Howard. Visions of a reality so like ours but so. . .different.”

He leaned forward, “How different?”

Peggy swallowed deep, afraid that if she spoke any louder, “Colleen.”

Howard’s brows furrowed together. “Your secretary?” she nodded. “What about her, pal?”

“I, er, she had just left and this vision came to me, like a barrage of memories telling me that she’s dead.”

“How could Colleen, your secretary who’s probably getting Tony a juice box, be dead?” as if on cue, there was a bout of laughter outside, one of Tony’s chiming laughter that placated Howard to no end and the encouraging, gentle tone of Colleen—

_“You know, there’s a difference between being an independent woman and a spinster.”_

_Peggy schooled her features to a line, fighting off a laugh. “Is it the shoes?”_ —

“Leviathan. A bullet to the head. Collateral damage.”

Howard’s brows furrowed, his lips pulled into a frown. “Leviathan, I haven’t heard that since ’47 when—”

“When you were wanted for treason.” She supplied readily, trying to piece out the events that followed but found that her memories began to fail her. She couldn’t remember a single thing. “Howard. I’m terrified.”

There was a palpable silence that reigned over them. “Have you told Steve?”

The suggestion seemed as ludicrous as it was expected. Of course Howard would suggest that she tell Steve.

“No!” her response was surprisingly strongly against telling her husband. She averted her gaze from the man in front of him, aware of the confusion he wore that was sent her way.

Peggy couldn’t honestly imagine a marriage with Steve involved with keeping secrets from one another, but a whispering hiss that buried itself deep within her mind seemed to coax her into silence. That so much a single word of it wouldn’t bring anything good.

“Okay.” Howard treaded carefully. “Pal, you’re acting strange here.”

Peggy ignored the worry that he obviously held and instead, cleared her throat with a cough. “The diagnosis?”

“It still stands.”

“Not physically, you ass.” She snapped. “I meant about the visions.” They still swarmed her mind, a presence that continued to haunt her like a perpetual ghost or a hanging shadow, just waiting for the right moment to grasp her in place.

“What if it’s in your mind.” Peggy’s brows furrowed. What on earth could possibly compel her to—

_The meeting room was as gloomy as the singular light bulb that illuminated the place. An uncomfortable silence hung around the room. Agent Hartley’s death had hit the agency hard._

_In the middle of the round table sat the file folder. It held the last wire Hartley sent to HQ._

“ ** _BIOLOGICAL WEAPON. EASTERN ARTEFACT FOUND. DJINN_** _—”_

_Howard frowned at the piece of paper. “Eastern?”_

_“Do we have an expert?”_

_Chet shook his head, instead pounding his finger on the edge of the cut off message. “What the hell is a djinn?”_ —

“Pal? You still with me?”

Peggy blinked once, and then twice. Her eyes adjusted to the environment. She was still inside the SHIELD medbay. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You were a million miles away with that look.” He said with a sad, wistful smile. “I think I have a diagnosis.”

Peggy nearly jumped out of the cot. “What is it?”

“Psychological.” He said simply. “You’re 42 years old, a high risk pregnancy, and Steve’s just got his first leave in over 13 months. Your ‘ _visions_ ’ could be a way for you to project your fear.”

“Of what?”

“Losing it all. The Soviets are running a tight shop and we don’t have any traction ever since the Bay of Pigs. There’re talks of missiles and Steve could get called back into the field.” There was a softness to his face, a sympathy of some sorts that she couldn’t quite grasp until she realized she wasn’t looking at Howard Stark, the immovable Captain America and Peggy Carter ally, she was looking at Howard Stark, father of one.

He sympathizes because he understood, the fear he saw in her.

“You imagine your life without them?” he asked softly, “Your family?”

She shuddered at the thought. “Never.”

“Exactly.” He surmised. “You’ve got this amazing life, Peg. And you’re scared of losing it all—the kid’s got your nerves up in a bundle.”

Peggy hated to admit it, but it made sense. A reappearance of nightmares conjured by the possibility of losing her family in the upcoming war that was to test the world and bring it to a standstill. This nuclear age of cold threats and espionage rattled her more than she would have liked to admit.

“You’re probably right. It’s probably nothing.”

Peggy wished she believed the lie.

Howard gave an uneasy laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “But hey, I’m not saying life ain’t precious. Why don’t you take the cabin up Montauk for a spin?”

She managed a glare. “The very excursion that got me in this very situation?”

“I’m afraid you can’t get more pregnant, pal.” He smirked.

Peggy rolled her eyes. “But I’m serious, Peg. Why don’t you take a weekend off, try to loosen up. Get the kids and do something to ease up, yeah?”

In her mind, the very primal part told her not to listen. Something’s still wrong. But there was also a nagging part that begged her, just for a small moment, that she take some time.

“I think I’ll go dancing.”

Howard, at the very least, looked pleased with her answer, eyeing her wedding band. “Well, you married Rogers for a reason, might as well make good on it.”


	6. CHAPTER V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why don’t we go upstate?” she asked hopefully, a growing smile on her face. “Let’s just take a break."

**New York City, New York**   
**December 14, 1961**

* * *

Steve was inside the living room; the kids were gathered around him as he held the book in one hand and animated gestured with the other.

Peggy half-hid herself from them, standing behind the door frame that lead to the living area but a stray part of Jamie’s toy had betrayed her when it gave a squeak. Immediately, heads turned to her direction and she was soon bombarded by her children.

“Mumma!” cheered Jamie, launching himself to her, giving her the tightest embrace that he could give. A feeling nestles itself into her. Howard’s right. She couldn’t give them up.

As fast as she possibly could, she dropped the files she had tucked under her arm into the nearest table she could set her eyes on and bent down to hold her child as tight as she can.

Soon, Peggy felt her older children, Sarah and Michael, follow in their little nest of embrace. “Missed you,” muttered Jamie, voice muzzled as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, smiling happily as his siblings pulled back.

“I know, my darling,” she cooed, “I missed you, too.” Peggy pressed a kiss on top of his head, letting herself, for a moment, relish in the moment with them.

“You know, it’s Christmas.” Their eldest, Sarah, said pointedly with a knowing tone a twelve year-old could muster with a hint of hope.

“I’m well aware.”

“Maybe we can head over to Grandma and Grandpa Barnes,” there was this light in her eyes painstakingly like Steve’s and Peggy wondered how on earth could she possibly say no. “Like we do every year?”

Steve stood from his spot, a slight jump to his step. He clapped his lands loudly behind the kids, a knowing, apologetic smile on his face. “Hey!” he said, putting on a smile, “Jamie, Mike, why don’t you help set the table today with Sarah?”

There was a reluctant look on Mike and Sarah’s face, an obvious hindrance to the request but the insisting smile on her husband’s face made it clear—the adults would need to talk.

Jamie, wonderfully oblivious to the situation, happily hopped away to the kitchen, humming a tune discernible only to himself, trailed by his older siblings.

Once reasonably alone in the living room, Steve exhaled loudly, still incredibly apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he began.

She raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

“They’re antsy to celebrate Christmas. They miss you.”

The lights above them flickered for a moment. The room shifted from light to dark and when she looked up, she saw not Steve, instead a different man—

_“You’re never home. The kids barely see you!” Daniel spat, an accusing finger pointed in her direction_

_Instead of replying, she scoffed, crossing her arms in a stance, standing firm against her husband. “And you’re any different?” her voice, unlike his explosive, emotion-driven reaction, was far cooler, calculated, but delivered the same venom as his did_ —

“I’ll tell them.” He finishes, rather awkwardly, before staring up at the ceiling, eyeing the flickering light bulb thoughtfully. “After dinner, I’ll look at this.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Instead of answering, he surged forward and leaned in for a soft, short, and tender kiss. A soft rustle of clothes and the crackling pieces of wood in the pressure of the fire reminded them that they were still in the living room, their kids merely steps away.

“I know the office is pretty busy right now. Don’t worry. I’ll tell the kids we won’t make it upstate to the farm in Syracuse.”

Syracuse. Peggy’s brows furrowed at the word.

Steve, thankfully, caught on. “The Barnes farm.” He explained carefully, his tone laced with caution. “Hon, you alright?”

She faltered, in her eyes, he glowed, almost like a Christmas angel. She wanted to tell him, the doubts that plagued, the visions that sporadically popped up. Everything, she wanted to tell him everything.

Peggy wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of the visions that kept appearing, the man who kept appearing in her mind or why, inexplicably, she knows in her heart that her secretary, Colleen, should be dead.

“It’s nothing,” she evaded, lying through her teeth and she hated the feeling.

Steve smiled, almost indulgently. “Only if you’re sure.”

Planting a smile on her lips, she tried to make it reach her eyes only that she couldn’t not even to save her life. “I am, darling. SHIELD’s just busy with this Hartley case.”

He winced in response. “Still the same one?”

“The president already called, and congress gave us a deadline.”

“I’m sorry. Any leads?”

She nodded. “We’re stuck.” Suddenly, Peggy frowned. It’s been weeks since the last telegram, since Diane Hartley’s body was found along the Rhine—

_“What is it with you and flying in restricted airspaces for unauthorized missions?”_

_“Top brass who undermine my value.”_ —

There was a ruckus from the kitchen. Both their heads spun in the direction. It sounded like a plate had fell from a height.

“I’ll get that.” Steve muttered sheepishly.

He broke the embrace, but not before pecking her lips one last time. He rolled up his sleeves and breathed out. “Don’t worry about the kids. I’ll tell them.” He gave her one last smile. It tugged at her heart, a gentle reminder as a memory came up.

She remembered that smile, without the greying hair. Without the fine lines across the mouth of the crow’s feet along his eyes. Peggy remembered that smile.

In Schmidt’s car in the alps. When he got on the plane and—

_“Steve?” only static answered._

_Peggy pressed on the button, her heart aching painfully. She knew it to be futile, but she pressed again, even though, in her heart, she knew only static would answer once again._

_But she still called out, heart bared out, tears falling down._

_“ **Steve**?”_—

Unable to stop herself, she trailed along to the mouth of the kitchen. There her children huddled in a half-circle along the broken plate. Steve carefully picked up the pieces.

There was a nagging feeling in her stomach that wasn’t quiet due to pregnancy. A sore, tingling feeling that kept telling her she was close, close to cracking the case wide open if only she stepped away.

But she stood, in front of her family, watching from the shadows, lurking behind and she found that it wouldn’t do her any good, protecting the world, if she couldn’t be with the people she loved most.

Howard was right. Maybe it was all in her mind.

“Darlings?” she called out.

Sarah, Mike, and Jamie’s heads turned in her direction, a sudden cheer in her voice.

“Peg?” Steve wondered aloud, carefully discarding the broken plate away.

“Why don’t we go upstate?” she asked hopefully, a growing smile on her face. “Let’s just take a break."

The kids cheered, but amidst the noise, she caught her husband’s eyes. He looked tired, but pleased all the same. He mouthed at her, “Thank you.”

It felt infectious, the cheering of her children. “Pack a few days’ worth of clothes.” She reminded the children, who then promptly bolted upstairs in a fit of excitement, forgetting all about supper.

Once again, she and Steve were left alone. “What about the case?”

“I miss my family.”

He chuckled, smiling to himself, before closing the distance between them, letting his arms lock behind her waist. “And you’re sure?”

“I am. Very much so.”

Steve glanced upward, chuckling under his breath. “They’ve missed you.” It was reiterated in a way the message rang clear: _I missed you_.

“I know, I’ve missed them, too.” Her eyes sparkled, teasing him so.

Like a good sport, Steve smiled it away. “A whole Christmas with Director Rogers, what a time to be alive.” Peggy suppressed a laugh.

“Who knows? We might even go dancing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nearing Christmas. I can't let give out heartbreaks for Christmas. Here's a fluff filler before the heartache.


	7. CHAPTER VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the bed, near the post with scratches and marks, there sat the woman whose lips once wore her lipstick. “Hello, Peggy. Long time.”
> 
> “Dottie. We need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will start to make more sense. I promise.

**Stark Museum**   
**New York City, New York**   
**December 18, 1961**

* * *

It was the most anticipated television event of the year, maybe even the decade. After all these years, slapping on the memorable face of Captain America and patriotic shield became a staple of Christmas time.

Howard beamed at her, reporting the sudden spike in television sales once the VA and Stark Museum decided to advertise its intention to televise the interview of Steve Rogers and his family. He coined it, grinning at her, a Christmas miracle.

Steve, in all sense of the word, in his blue-and-red tights, managed to beat out the Santa in his red robes.

Peggy understood it the most, she was the one who received the biggest gift of them all when Howard called her, one chilly night just after the clock strike at twelve—“I found him, Peg. I did it. I finally found him. Steve’s coming home.”

And come home he did, to all the pomp and fanfare one would expect to bring forth for a national treasure and institution resurrected from a supposed watery grave. Peggy remembered, driving him home through the streets of Brooklyn, right to the Barnes apartment, both sides of the street had people lined up and clamoring just to get a glimpse of the hero who saved the world.

Incidentally, she remembered the way his cheeks flared and the shy smile; he never did respond well to compliments, even the well-deserved ones.

To top it all off, just after declaring defeat from the formidable feast that Winnifred Barnes cooked up—and considering that Steve was the one who hung up his spoon and fork and waved his handkerchief as his white flag, that _was_ saying something—how they stood just by the porch, uncaring about the rush of reporters who lingered as they shared a kiss just as the first snow started to fall upon their Christmas bliss.

It was the perfect Christmas gift caught in picture—even in technicolor, too, she soon found. The headlines burned and chased after them: “ **CAP RETURNS TO WARTIME SWEETHEART** ”.

And despite the pestering reporters who continued to relegate her into nothing more than a romantic interest to Steve, the headlines didn’t exactly lie; he returned to her and just in time for Christmas.

So, there she was, just barely inside the Stark Museum, trailing along the massive halls despite the pestering cold that radiated from outside the doors. With the chill it brought, Peggy shivered and reminded herself that this was the last duty she had to do before taking a break to go upstate to the farm in Syracuse.

Just one interview for the anniversary, she thought to herself, and it’s off to the farm with the family.

Dressed up and readied for the interview, Peggy already expected the people in the conference room with Howard working up the technical wirings to get the best lighting because he couldn’t be trusted to just stand still by the side.

Walking through the steps of the Stark Museum, listening to the echoing and fading footsteps of the people who ushered her inside and helpfully directed her to the room where the cameras were set up, where her family was, she couldn’t help but want to take a step back when someone came up to her, a familiar face with a warm smile, a kind heart, and those ears that popped out.

“Director Rogers!” Daniel Sousa greeted her as he all but ran to her direction and she couldn’t help but think it was wrong because he limped—

_“Sorry.”_

_She still held Steve’s file when a loud, metal-scraping-against-metal sounded just behind her. Turning immediately, she saw Daniel, a sheepish and apologetic look on his face._

_His crutch stood out in, caught stuck in between the metal shelving. He looked like he wanted the ground to open up and eat him whole._

_Daniel glanced down with a forlorn look at his crutch, somewhat glaring as if wanting it gone or chastising himself for being clumsy; whatever it was, Peggy never did find out as Daniel tapped the handle. “Still haven’t quite got the hang of—”_

_They overlapped, Peggy brusquely clamming up, not willing others to see the vulnerability even if it’s quite literally out in the open in the form of his file. “It’s fine.”_

_Daniel wasn’t quite so sure as to what he should do, so he took a few steps forward as she pieced together the banker box of Project Rebirth files._

_“I can assure you, I don’t do this quite often.”_

_He gave an uncommitted sound. He looked like he understood, that he sympathized, but the way he carried himself made it look that he didn’t quite comprehend it all the same_ —

Daniel Sousa stuck his hand forward, a proud smile on his face as light bounced off on the ring on his other hand. “I believe we’ve never had the pleasure of meeting before,” she remembered that smile, though it was absurd to think that she did because she never met the man. “Daniel Sousa, curator of museum exhibit and secretary of the VA.”

She smiled. “It’s wonderful to finally have a face to the voice.” She lied; Peggy could already picture his face before the entire interview was lined up. The smile grew heavier and harder to keep up especially when a woman made herself known.

The woman hung on the back, blonde and with a smaller frame. The way she hung to Daniel’s side spoke to her, like it wasn’t the first time she saw the woman or the first time she saw her around Daniel. The familiarity made her stick out much more than she should have.

Daniel caught on immediately and the brightest smile she’s ever seen tugged on his lips. “Director Rogers, may I introduce my amazing wife, Violet?”

A strange feeling sunk in her stomach and she kept feeling a painful sting at her abdomen, like she had been impaled by something—

_Exhaustion and the sting of smuggled alcohol began to make its way to her system, her eyelids falling heavy. But she could hear, the painfully understood statement that held no malice but all the disappointment one could afford._

_While it wasn’t a question, it didn’t quite resemble an accusation. “I think you’re in love with her.”_

_Besides, even if it was, Daniel never did deny it quickly enough before she fell to sleep_ —

“Violet Sousa, ma’am.” The woman shook her hand eagerly. “I’ve read all about the strides you’ve been making in congress, pressing on the suits and wigs to change the system, to give us women a real chance in the workplace.” The words flowed, but Peggy was stuck looking at Daniel, who watched in silent but obvious admiration for Violet.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, yes?” she recited, and despite her mind running with the thoughts and bursts and flashes of memories, she couldn’t help but keep those words near and in her heart.

The reverie was broken when a distant clock chimed and a bell had rung. Daniel’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open, like he was ready to mutter a curse under his breath. “Colonel Rogers and your family’s already in the conference room,” he gestured towards the stairs. “Shall we?”

Smiling tightly, Peggy began making her ascend towards the conference room, but with every step she took that brought her closer to the room, she felt like she was on a death march and certain death was going to greet her.

Soon, the sound of laughter made its way to her ears.

Peggy bit back a sob as eyes watered. She could hear her children already. Jamie’s loud and tinkling laughter that never did fail to lift her spirits or the gentle tone that you wouldn’t expect from a man with Steve’s stature.

From behind her, Violet chuckled. “I’m guessing you’re just about ready to leave New York?” wordlessly, she gave a somewhat composed hum of approval. “After this interview, you’re off upstate, yes?”

“Barnes farm.” She provided, as tears pooled in her eyes. Peggy could already imagine it—the fresh air, her children, her husband.

She could have it all.

But a nasty whisper kept reminding her that she couldn’t, not when the walls seemed to close down on her and the halls seemed to pan longer.

Fingers balled up into fists, Peggy was sure at this point that she was already drawing blood from her hands and in her mouth as she bit her lips just to keep herself from letting out a guttural sob.

 **LEVIATHAN** , her mind seemed to scream, **HYDRA**.

Her mind supplied her with visions of flying over restricted air space with Howard. Memories filled her doubt and whispers and she’s wondering why she’s prepared divorce papers for Daniel when she’s happily married to Steve.

A cry almost escapes because as she nears the completion of her death march, she’s panicking because she can’t even remember her children’s first word. Her wedding. None of it. None of it felt real.

Her breathing began to become more shallow and rapidly. She couldn’t remember her first anniversary and yet she remembered fights with Daniel, the yelling and screaming match that became much louder with each passing burst of anger.

 **BIOLOGICAL WEAPON. EASTERN ARTIFACT FOUND. DJINN** —

_“Howard, what does your expert have on djinns?”_

_Chet leaned forward and his eyes burrowed. “What kind of superstitious trash is this?” he threw in the papers and Peggy was compelled to do the same. At least Hydra had the least bit of science with the Tesseract._

_What she held in her hands was a collection of mythological rubbish._

_“That’s what we decoded from Hartley, Peg. Djinns are human-like creatures whose defense mechanism is knocking a predator unconscious and letting them stay in a state of comatose.”_

_She nudged her finger on a line that she knew must have bore a hole in their heads. “Through hypnosis? Through delusions of their ‘deepest desire’? How on earth is that possible?”_

_“I don’t, Peg. Hartley’s notes say that the essence they extracted from the djinns keep people in a state where they won’t try to fight the influence of the drug because they want the delusion. What I wouldn’t give to pick on the brain that thought all of this up, pal, but they’ve created a drug that brainwashes people to follow orders unconditionally by keeping them in a—”_

_Chet snapped and pointed a finger at Howard. “In English, Stark. And make it short.”_

_Howard breathed out and swallowed deep. “They’re developed a drug, blocks the part of the brain that stops people from doing violent and potentially dangerous activities. Her notes suggest that the test subjects are being incited with rage,” Peggy looked at the post mortem pictures of Agent Hartley and noticed the severe bruising that could be found all over the body._

_“An anger drug?”_

_“Exactly.” Howard nodded grimly. “A drug that you couldn’t fight off because you don’t want it to end.”_

_“Explain.”_

_Howard looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. “Do you read comics?” he blurted out but sighed immediately after a look she gave him. “Right. Stupid question, 'course you don't. Alright, in those Superman comics, there’s a parasitic plant that creates a dream of the host’s perfect life. Think of the djinn like that, it taps into your brain to give you the perfect life you always dreamed of—I mean tell me, Peg, how could something be so wrong when you’re in the arms of the man you love?”_

_The words struck hard at her. She knew the pointed tone and the hint he left—how could she not?_

_Of course, time and time again, Howard would use Steve Rogers against her because he knew that whenever **he** was concerned, she’s not to be trusted_—

Then, in all the chaos that ran amok in her mind, the near tears that she kept bottled up, in the midst of it all, she reached the room.

Steve was there, on the couch, happily settled in the nook of it all, his hands animatedly gesturing, creating images through wild and conservative waves, drawing laughter from both their children and the crew who was standing-by.

Peggy’s heart broke. She wanted to be with them. But she knew it to be wrong.

So, it shattered her being into a million pieces when Steve and the children noticed her standing there. They smiled brightly, waving at her, beckoning for her to join them, but she didn’t.

She stood frozen on the spot as the memories that she couldn’t brand false or fake rushed to her mind. “Peggy?” Steve called out, worry now in his voice. Behind her were rushed footsteps.

“Director Rogers, is everything alright?”

Steve got up from the couch and began to make his way to her, but with each step he took, she took one further away and it didn’t help that the look of hurt sent a sharp pang to her every being.

“I can’t be here.” People yelled after her, Steve even broke into a sprint but the rushed footsteps faded into the noise of the traffic as she broke through the doors and ran her way into the busy streets of New York City.

Peggy ran, took off the fastest she can, willing herself not to look back even when Jamie’s voice lingered in her mind.

She ran and ran until she saw the familiar double arcs of the French revival chateauesque. She could still remember a friend recommending the hotel inside an automat. The double doors were kept and held open, but oddly enough, she could remember the curfew at 10:00 and not a minute more.

Peggy, entranced, walked passed by the booth, a curly-haired woman with glasses looked like she wanted to either tell her off for trespassing or recite the code of conduct that she herself could recall by heart—

_“Our code of conduct is indisputable: attire should be demure and elegant, curfew is 10:00, no drinking, no men above the first floor—no exceptions, is that clear, Miss Carter?” the smile in the end made it clear that Miriam Fry didn’t quite trust her._

_“Perfectly.”_ —

Peggy quickly raced through the flights of stairs and didn’t even to bother catching up on her breath as she pushed on a door, golden letters traced on top of the wooden surface.

3F.

On the bed, near the post with scratches and marks, there sat the woman whose lips once wore her lipstick. “Hello, Peggy. Long time.”

“Dottie. We need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peggy's whammied. 
> 
> Also, trivia, the first appearance of "Black Mercy" aka the parasitic drug wasn't until "Superman Annual" issue that was released on September of 1985. So, you know, technically Howard's referring to nothing here.


	8. CHAPTER VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will start to make more sense. I promise.

**Griffith** **Hotel**  
 **New York City, New York**  
 **December 18, 1961**

* * *

It was a strange experience to be in the same room with Dottie Underwood without a fight breaking out.

Dottie crossed the room, a watchful but wicked gaze never truly where Peggy stood, just near the door, one foot ready to bust out the door and return to somewhere familiar, somewhere safe.

Though, even as Dottie turned her back, a perfect window of opportunity for Peggy to escape, to go back to the museum, she didn’t. Because a part of her believed in Dottie, that her mortal nemesis wouldn’t be untrue, not in the sense where she needed the agent to be.

The television was turned on and flipped to a channel. Instead of the program expected, the logo of Stark Industries was flashed with small print fixed just below apologizing for the technical difficulties. Internally, she grimaced—there wasn’t a technical difficulty.

“Aw,” Dottie feigned disappointment dramatically and pouted at the screen. “I was looking forward to that, you know?” the woman paced in front of her, every move cold and calculated like a predator waiting to pounce on her vulnerable prey.

“I need your help.”

Dottie laughed. Not that conservative dinner-party-hostess laugh, instead it was that deep-rooted, straight from the belly laugh that left her gasping for breath and nearing tears.

“Oh, Peggy, that’s rich.” She said with a winning smile before producing a small firearm from seemingly thin air—Peggy, of course, knew better and understood that it was hidden just under the folds of her skirt. “Now tell me what you really want.”

She wasn’t a spy for nothing, after all.

Ignoring the potentially fatal pistol aimed right at her, Peggy produced a neatly scrawled telephone number. Dottie mocked interest and cocked the gun. “How wonderful, are we going to call each other now and exchange baking tips?”

A humorless huff left her lips. “Interesting theory, but no.” Cautiously, Dottie took the number from her fingers but Peggy pulled back at the last second. “Try a nuclear dead code.”

In an instant, Peggy watched as Dottie’s eyes widened in genuine interest. The sickening, manic grin returned. “As wonderful as it is, I’ve got no use for that.”

As much as she wanted to play coy and act the role, she wasn’t in any mood to play games. “A mercenary like you could always use an upgrade in your arsenal. Nevada base, just off Groom Lake. You’ll find a nuclear silo, everything is in there.”

“What makes you so sure that I won’t just bust out of here and go get those warheads myself?”

A breath of air was sucked out of her lungs. Dottie was right, asking the question. There was no certainty of her cooperation. “I don’t, but what I do know is your respect.”

They stared down at one another. “Respect?” Dottie scoffed.

“Yes, respect. As despicable the things you’ve done, when it comes to your adversaries, you hold them in a certain light; a respect of some sorts. Why else would you have helped us capture Whitney Frost?”

A playful, sadistic grin that had a pointed snark was flashed at her, soon enough. “Oh, I don’t know, Peggy, maybe it was the choker that held a deadly toxin?”

“Regardless,” Peggy shrugged austerely before producing a file that she kept on her person. “You’re the one person I can come to with this.”

“Can’t tell your hubby? What, is there trouble in paradise?”

“Read it.”

Dottie rolled her eyes but dutifully scanned the piece of paper. The ruby, red lips smirked once again. “My, my Peggy. You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Then, all marks of passively aggressive and poisonous sweetness were dropped.

“You want my free advice?” the card for the nuclear dead code was thrown to the ground, just in front of her heels. “Drop it.”

Peggy felt her throat constrict. She would not lose this end. “You know something.” Her eyes narrowed down, zeroing in on the tightness of her brows as they furrowed. “What is it?”

“You’ve known a long time ago, Peggy. You just never wanted to acknowledge it.”

“Oh, bloody get with it.”

“The case. The djinn.”

“So, tell me!”

Dottie waved her finger tauntingly. “Not until you humor me a question.”

“If you’re going to be more of a hindrance then, I’d advise you run off into the sunset. I’m a phone call away from SHIELD busting their way in through these doors.”

Dottie laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, Peg, you know those duds never really know how we work. We’re one of a kind, you and I. Which is why I’m going to do you a favor and say it again—drop the case.”

Peggy breathed heavily. “And why? Why would I do that? Why would I take your word?”

Dottie waved around the room with a lazy smirk. “You came here, Peggy.”

“The Hartley case now!” she roared with all the desperation and rage she could possibly muster. She didn’t know how it came to be, but Peggy found herself aiming a gun at Dottie, who, in turn, had a small firearm now aimed at herself.

There was a shuddering silence and Peggy wanted to break down.

“Please.” She whispered. “What’s happening? I just want to go home.”

Dottie approached her, gun set aside, uncharacteristically soft. “Then go home.” Her eyes flew shut and she imagined her family, just sitting in the living, waiting for her to burst through those doors and welcome her with open arms.

She could imagine the slow roasted beef that Steve had been marinating to perfection the past week. She could imagine Sarah, just about trailing her, eyes that beheld a bright gleam pride before handing her a crafted Christmas present.

Michael would over by the stove, strung to Steve’s hip. Like Santa’s little helper, her husband once coined it.

And Jamie, Peggy’s heart ached, her baby would give her the same toothy grin. He laugh that same, tireless laugh that would make every single day of work worthwhile if it meant keeping her family safe, keeping them happy and alive.

“Can you picture them?” Dottie had a kindness to her voice and Peggy hated that it was there, that she nodded with tears in her eyes. “Do you want to go home to them?”

“More than anything in this world.”

_This isn’t you, Peg!_

Howard’s panicked voice rang in her head as she whipped around. Howard wasn’t here. Why was she hearing these voices?!

“Peggy?” Dottie called out again.

“I wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world.” She imagined the farm, Peggy wanted it all. She wanted it all with Steve.

“See?” Dottie pressed gently. “You have a wonderful life. A family you love and loves you back for who you are.” She picked up the card from the ground and tore it apart into tiny, miniscule pieces. “You already have everything—” there was a hint of jealousy in her voice, a hint of towering urgency that seeped into her being, “—stop trying to throw it all away.”

Peggy’s hand was lifted and the broken pieces of the nuclear dead code was deposited into her palm. “Consider this my holiday gift, Peggy.” And once again, the poisonously tart and sweet charm of Dottie Underwood was back, the gun now pointed at her again as her adversary proceeded to open the door with the graceful poise of a snake waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

“Dottie—” she protested weakly, wanting to insist on the Hartley case. But she was cut off with a book. _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_.

“Oh, no. Off you go.” The gun clicked and Peggy recognized an order when she saw one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will start to make more sense. I promise.
> 
> It's a promise I'll make good in because there's about a handful of chapters left. The end will, hopefully tie up the loose ends. Anyways, see you next chapter, whenever that's gonna be. 
> 
> Anyways, the book "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" by CS Lewis stated that the White Witch was indeed half-jinn (djinn) and giant. Expect that many answers will be answered next chapter. 
> 
> See ya.


	9. CHAPTER VIII

New York City, New York  
December 18, 1961

* * *

“Peggy.”

Steve saw her just across their lawn. He looked like he was ready to comb through the town, search through every crook and cranny of the dark alleys and shady buildings if it meant finding her. A dark and grim part of her knew that he already did, that he’d already search half of the city, running and shouting himself hoarse shouting her name if it meant finding her.

And, her heart constricted, because never in her life did Steve’s love feel so suffocating.

Never in her life did she feel like his love was wrong. But it did.

But then, he saw her. He ran across the street, not bothering to look to his sides. Worry was evident in his eyes, one that neither seemed foreign nor displaced.

No doubt, she looked frazzled, shaken. His eyes darted towards her stomach, cautiously taking a step towards him, an unspoken question hung between them and she didn’t quite know how to answer.

That’s a feeling she’s often found this week, not knowing.

And she’s there, standing in front of him, as he took her in for a tight embrace, wondering if he’s ever done that before—

_Daniel stood by the edge of the seat, his good foot just tapping anxiously against the linoleum floor when she appeared, a tired smile on her face._

_“I’m alright, darling, it’s—”_

_He never let her finish, capturing her in a bone-searing embrace, breathing in her scent and letting her feel his love even without his words. And the look on his face, she was sure, in the moment, she loves him, too_ —

“What the hell’s going on, Peg?” Steve murmured against the crook of her neck, tears already stinging up on her eyes when she realized she knew.

_Peg, pal, please._

Again, Howard’s voice echoed in her ear and she willed it gone. But she saw it, for a moment, Howard, standing before her, hands shaking with a bloodied knife.

“Please tell me what’s happening.” He whispered, a soft and begging confession spoken against her skin. And she wanted to tell him, everything that there was, she wanted to tell him.

Everything—the Hartley case, the djinn that kept plaguing her eyes. But then, she looked at him, and she couldn’t.

“Please, if you could just let me in.” He pulled away, staring in her eyes, tempting him even more when a sharp feeling invaded her neck.

She saw blue. Not the warm, ever-changing ocean blue of his eyes, Peggy saw something much more sinister, a glowing control that surged through her veins.

“Where are the children?” she asked immediately, breath quickening and panic rising like a force of nature up her throat. She blinked away the tears and tried to fight against the hold of Steve’s arms. She couldn’t remember them, her children.

Instead, she saw a different family altogether—

_Michael Daniel, he’s named after his uncle and father. The minute he was handed to her, she noticed his ears peeking out of the bundle of clothes. Even the, especially then, she saw how much he was his father’s son._

_And Stephanie, she was the miracle_ —

“Steve, where are they?”

“At the Jarvis'. Peg, what’s happening.”

She pushed past him and ran to the living room, feeling like her bones could just explode and her chest constricting until she couldn’t breathe. Then, she saw that bloody book by C.S. Lewis and she wanted nothing more than to throw it in a pit of fire.

But there was something that hung just at the edge of her nails, one that begged her to take it and rip it open.

_You’re not you, pal! The djinn, it’s not the weapon, its poison is, Peg. You got to wake up!_

And there it was again, Howard’s voice yelling just at the base of her ear.

She wanted to scream, yell out in frustration and let the tears welling right out of her eyes because she couldn’t anymore. She didn’t know if she was finally going over the bend, losing her mind and senses.

“Take me dancing.” She blurted out, nearly doubling over with the sheer ferocity of it all.

“Peggy, what’s—”

“Take me away, anywhere, I don’t bloody care.” Their eyes met and Steve nearly turned away. “Just take me away from here.”

“The kids—”

“We’ll take them, we’ll run away. I’ll resign from SHIELD, give Howard and Chet my two-weeks’ notice. I don’t care, Steve. Don’t you see that I need to get far away as much as possible.”

_Danny’s. . .you need to snap out of it, Peg. We have to help Daniel._

“We can’t run away, Peggy. Whatever your problem is, we can’t just run away, hope it'll never catch up.” Then, more softly, he adds, "That's not us, Peggy."

A part of her knew he was right. He was right in every sense of the word but she couldn’t, not now. “Please.” She sobbed. “One night. Just take me away, forget any of this happened.”

“Peggy. . .”

“Just us and the kids. Away.” Her lips trembled, knowing the life she once thought so intact now cruelly stood at the edge of a cliff, ready to fade into oblivion and she’s not ready to say goodbye.

For Steve’s part, he looked like he had given up. “I’m going to change.” He announced. “Let’s have a night out, ‘kay? We’ll take the kids and we’ll drive out as far as we can until we’re out of gas.” Steve took her hands and wove his fingers within, peppering her skin with kisses and she nearly recoiled.

He was cold. He was never cold. But his lips were as cold as ice.

_Peg, I. . .just tell her, yeah? Tell Maria. Tell her I love her._

“But please, just tell me that after this, we’ll work things out.”

Steve tucked her into her arms before pulling away, going upstairs, leaving her alone in the living room.

Slowly, as the seconds passed by, the clock became louder and her blood pounded inside her veins loud enough so that its pulsating beat was the only thing that stood between her and the novel.

Sounds filtered from upstairs and she could hear the cupboards and nightstands’ drawers being pulled open when she steeled her guts. Her fingers trembled, but the heavy weight now rested in her hands.

“It’s just a book.” She chanted. “It’s just a book.”

The moment she flipped through the cover, Peggy’s heart and stomach sank. It wasn’t just a book.

Instead of the detailed, and vivid imagery CS Lewis always had, it was lost. The text of the novel was replaced with the distinct stamp print of the typewriters they use at the office—a gravelly finish of ink blotted by the side, it was a haunting recreation of the mission report files.

On the first page was her operative, Agent Diane Hartley. She was strangled to death, but the bruising’s patterns were unique and the angle was off, only then did she realize that it was off because it wasn’t a woman or a man strangling her.

Hartley had strangled herself. 

Death by her own hands through asphyxiation.

Next page featured an extensive toxicology report that featured an eastern poison. Her organs had failed and shut down at an accelerated rate, reaching organ failure from peak condition within 3 months.

Eyes were white, suggesting blindness that occurred over time.

Peggy flipped through the next page—it was about djinns.

Djinns whose essence could cause a delusion of a perfect world. Their essence, a living parasite, would attach itself to the host, feeding off until there remains nothing more.

A djinn who could invade the deepest trench of the mind and play, with those memories, the emotions, and conjure a fate worse than death—a reality that is not achievable even in death, a dream that could never be, a life that will never happen.

But then, Peggy trailed her fingers along the edge of the paper and flipped to a corner where it had budged upwards. She saw pictures of further deceased operatives, then of her, flying in restricted airspace.

She saw Daniel, not the man she saw just earlier that day, a man who was happily married to Violet. Peggy saw the real Daniel, the man who yelled at the paper when the Red Sox lost the game. The Daniel who had an aluminum crutch and used it to get the upper hand on Dottie Underwood.

Peggy stifled a sob. She caressed the side of the paper and let her tears drop. It was of her children, Michael and Stephanie.

Footsteps sounded just by the base of the stairs.

“Peg, you’re crying.”

“I have to leave.” She breathed in deep. “I can’t, Steve. I need to go.”

It was Steve’s confusion, his scrunched-up eyebrows that nearly broke her resolve to get out of the bloody place. “I thought we were going dancing.” He was dressed to the nines, his smart button-up was starched and he looked exactly the way she last saw him.

Young, beautiful, and perfect.

Peggy’s heart must have broken into a million pieces and then some when she took a deep breath and moved forward. “I know, and I’m sorry that we can’t.”

There was this pain-stricken look that flashed on his face, this disappointment that Peggy wanted nothing more in this world than to kiss away.

But that was the problem—this world wasn’t her world.

Or, at the very least, in another life, in another universe that wasn't cruel enough to deny her, it should have been her world.


	10. CHAPTER IX

**East Berlin, Soviet Germany**   
**December 25, 1961**

* * *

Steve stood in front of her, the illusion now gone—her mind would not be so cruel as to continue a lie once found out.

Gone was the darkening strands of hair, and the wrinkles of his skin. The Steve Rogers who stood in front of her was the one she had lost, the one she had sent off to board the bomber only to crash it just minutes after.

Gone was the warmth of their New York home and it was replaced with a shell, the shadow of the lie it was. She was probably still in Germany, after the mission.

“What’s happening?” he asked, a deep rumbling voice in his throat, one of calm panic that denoted he knew.

A part of him, one made by her subconscious, knew.

“You’re not real.” She confessed, closing her eyes as she admitted the truth she’s buried inside her, as if the look on his face would be her undoing. And maybe, it would have been.

“I don’t. . .I don’t understand.”

And so she explained everything—offshoots of evil organizations lingering in the shadows required a firm hand to deal with them.

Peggy explained the case of Agent Hartley, one of her operatives who strangled herself to death due to a parasitic toxin that invaded the mind, conjuring the cruel thoughts of a perfect world that could never be. A toxin that left one vulnerable and physically violent to people around them.

She explained, as carefully and respectfully as she could, that he was an apparition, a thought conjured by her toxin-influenced mind to keep her in a coma. A ploy to keep her inside.

Steve looked pained. “I don’t want to keep you here, not if you get hurt or worse.” And her heart ached.

Because not even a toxin like a djinn’s essence could ever distort the Steve Rogers she held in her heart, the one selfless enough to stop existing.

Her feet tapped against the ground and Steve sighed.

“You’re leaving.”

Peggy nodded. The world that laid before her wasn’t hers, and no matter how much she wanted to stay in it, the world that was so achingly like the future she once thought she’d forfeited when allowed Steve the dignity of his choice.

A sad smile played on Steve’s lips. “I’m in your head, aren’t I?”

Peggy choked back on a sob. She couldn’t trust herself or her words, so instead she nodded.

Steve slumped back on a chair—his favorite chair that she now realized was the corner loveseat in her office that reminded her of the very same shade of blue that twinkled in his eyes in the sun.

“Off to save the world, huh?”

“Only because it needs so much saving, my darling.” It felt weird, talking to a version of Steve that her subconscious had produced. But it felt comforting, seeing him before her, even if she looked her age and him the very same as the day she lost him to the waves.

Steve smiled with that same, unending charm. He looked out the window. “How are you going to get back?”

“This is an illusion. A dream—one has to break the dream by finding what shouldn’t belong in reality.”

Realization flashed on his face. “The Valkyrie was found and the wreckage is about to be integrated in the Stark museum’s exhibit on me. . .Captain America.” He stuttered along the last lines. “The curator of the museum, he’s the one you have to go to, right?”

“Yes. Daniel Sousa has a limp and a metal crutch in real life, here, however, he’s in full control of his limbs.”

Steve glanced at the pictures. She realized, as she looked closely to the picture of their daughter, it looked like the photograph of Sarah Rogers on his file for Project Rebirth. Their middle son, Michael, was the spitting image of his namesake, while their youngest, James, was Steve all over.

It was an illusion. A painfully accurate reconstruction of the life Peggy knew to herself, in her heart of hearts, would have moved heaven and earth to have a chance at.

“After this, when you get back, _this_ will be gone?” he stared at the door, and there was already a nagging feeling as white light seeped through the cracks that the minute she walked through those doors, he would cease to be real. The reality she's been living relies solely on what she imagines to be her life with Steve in it—knowing it wasn't real helped crack the facade. 

“It will. I’m sorry.”

He laughed mirthfully, but not without contempt. “You can’t apologize for erasing something that didn’t exist in the first place, Peg. That’s not your burden to bear.”

“Still,” she let her hand linger on his cheek, remember what warmth that coursed under her palm. She willed his image be burned into her mind, or the pulse that beat under his skin into her heart. Anything.

“Do you have to leave now?” Steve asked instead, changing the topic.

“Time moves differently here. The sooner I leave, the better. I need to stop Leviathan and Hydra.”

“Look, I know there’s no tomorrow on this, no dancing in the Stork Club, no 8 o’clock on the dot.” But he stepped closer. “But if this is as close as we can get to that second chance, that date we never got, then maybe it’s my way of giving and getting closure.”

“Steve?”

“If this is my last night with you, then let’s make the most of it.”

“I can’t.”

He looked shattered. “The minute you walk out those doors, I will be gone.” He said truthfully. “If I can’t be with you, then at least let me give you a memory we can both hold on to.” He lead her to their room, letting the brightness of the room fade into the darkness as he closed the door of their bedroom.

His hands covered her hands. “Just one last time.” Steve’s eyes briefly met hers and took a step back. “But only if you want to.”

Peggy swallowed and tearfully pressed her lips against her. She fumbled with the zipper, letting her dress pool to the ground around her feet. Steve’s breath hitched and he looked to the ceiling, his tears now shining, like he’s afraid if he looks down again, the dream will all but fade away.

Instead, she remained. Peggy took his hands, tugging at his arm.

“Then let’s make it a memory worth remembering.”


	11. CHAPTER X

**East Berlin, Soviet Germany**   
**December 25, 1961**

* * *

Peggy slowly and quietly slipped into the darkness of the night, dressing as she went out of the door, leaving a part of her heart and soul behind as she left Steve in their bedroom.

It was his last request, that when she leaves, she will not wake him up. Even after all those years, Peggy could still not find it in herself to refuse him.

Instead, upon fastening the last button on her blouse, she leaned in forward and watched him sleep. He looked young, carefree, free of the burden of the reality, as if his world wasn’t about to implode upon itself as she leaves the house. He was sleeping on his side, blissfully snoring the night away. Gently, she stroked his hair, relishing the feel of it, wondering why she had never given herself the chance to do so in real life back then when he was there, alive.

Willing those thoughts away, her breathe hitched and a sob threatened to escape. Her bottom lip trebled as she leaned down and pressed a kiss on his bare shoulder. As struggles to wake up form the illusion, Peggy knows that she cannot leave with her heart and soul intact.

But the fact stands—she has to leave.

Reliving the memory of pouring down his blood unto the Hudson, Peggy stifled a sob and blinked back her tears: “Goodbye, my darling.”

Quietly, she tip-toed out of the room and back downstairs. What greeted her was a blinding light that seeped from the cracks of the front door.

A defense mechanism, she thought, designed to scare her to submission and keep her in the coma. Steeling and braving herself, Peggy twisted the knob and was engulfed in a bright white light.

Imagining searing pain or whizzing bullets to stop her, nothing came.

Instead, there was only silence, which was broken by a set of footsteps echoing in the hall. She was inside the museum. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”

Peggy gritted her teeth. It was Michael, her brother. He was dead and yet there he stood, alive and well. She whispered to herself, repeating over and over again, “It’s not real.” He was dead. Taken away from this world far too son, but gone nonetheless.

A hand rested on her shoulder and prompted her to look up. Michael’s reassuring face greeted her. “It could be, old mum.”

Then, another voice. “We’re already so happy, Peggy.” Daniel was there, beaming brightly at Violet and then gave her a quizzical look, his laughter dying, fading. “Don’t you want me to be happy, Peggy?”

They continued laughing, tormenting her in this world. Violet kept grinning, hand splayed all over Daniel’s chest. Suddenly, there were more people around her—her children appeared behind her, tugging her towards the exit but no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t fight back.

“You were going to resign, Peggy dear girl.” Her father now appeared, looking as healthy as a horse even though she knew better that his health was left in shambles after a stroke three years ago. "You could have lived a life here."

"I would die, I wouldn't last long."

Michael surged forward, face softening. "But time runs here differently, old mum. An hour out there could be a decade here." 

Then, suddenly, the world shifted. She was no longer in the museum—she in a hospital and she was lying on a bed. An IV needle was connected in her hand, her head all light and vision blurred.

Peggy had to get out of—

The sound of a baby crying.

Peggy looked to her side and stifled a sob. “You could still have it, Peggy.” Michael was at the door of the hospital room. The cot held a yowling, howling baby. She remembered, in the fantasy, she was pregnant. The baby's cheeks were red, crying for the attention of its mother. 

Her first instinct was to take the infant into her arms, cradle her into a gentle lull. Only, she can't her fingers passed through, as if she weren't there. 

Instead, the door opened and revealed her brother. Michael stepped forward and took the infant into his arms, ignoring her pained looks as he cooed at the bundled infant, making faces as he swayed the baby gently in his arms and rocking it to a lull. “It’s a girl, just so you know.” He said nonchalantly, crooning at the girl.

She wanted to reach her hands forward, pretend just for a minute.

"You could watch her grow up. If you want to, feel the years course through your body, Peggy. You could grow old with your captain here. Can you do that in your real life? A life where you've been bullied down and beaten to the ground?" Peggy held his gaze, hating that she still thought of it, staying. "A life that took away the love of your life?"

Then, Peggy thought of the love of her life. She couldn't leave them behind. 

It wouldn’t do. She can’t stay any longer in the dream. Peggy needs to escape and return to her real life, the real world. People needed her, her children needed her.

 _Steve_ , Howard’s voice once again played in her head, _I’m sorry I couldn’t save her_.

 _Steve_.

She focused on his name, remembering the shield he carried, the braveness he held. She focused on him. The ringing sound and dizziness faded and she was once more in the museum.

Instead of the hall, she was standing in front of a pair of glass double doors. A glaring sign hung above and an information plaque was drilled into the wall. Peggy swallowed deeply and pushed the doors open.

She was now inside the Captain America exhibit.

In the midst of the room, she could already see the disparity that distinguished the lie from the truth, the dream from the reality. Peggy saw, in the corner of her eyes, the blue and red shield and it was with a painful pang that she noted that it was still in the arctic with Steve.

Her heels tapped against the ground and gently lead her into the heart of the exhibit—the cabin of the bomber was recovered and fitted into the hall, creating a seamless transition from room to the plane. A looped reel of skies and arctic ground played behind the glass panes of the pilot’s cabin.

A gust of cold wind blew in from the air conditioning. A part of her wondered if this is what Steve felt.

Then, radio static cackled into life—“ _Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me_?”

A pang of hurt hit her square in the chest. The final test, to get back, it was the recording.

“ ** _Captain Rogers, what is your_** —” there was a scuffle on the other side of the comms and soon enough, Peggy braced herself, her own voice came into light.

“ ** _Steve? Is that you? Are you alright_**?” She inched closer towards the dashboard of the cockpit. The sound was coming from the radios, playing a loop of their conversation—only it wasn’t right.

“ _Peggy! Schmidt’s dead_.”

Another cackle of static, of her finger pressing on the receiver. “ ** _What about the plane_**?”

Gone was the hanging silence that became unbearable for her once. “ _Damaged but landing gear’s intact. How do I land this thing_?”

“ ** _Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site_**.”

And just like how she’s wish he had given it, “ _Okay, here we go: 41.7325º N, 49.9469º W_.”

Peggy snapped the radio close and breathed in deep. He never gave her coordinates. Looking back, all she ever wanted was for him to give his bloody coordinates. To save him, or even just to bring him home. But he never did. He never gave his coordinates, and the little part of her that wondered what if it was those coordinates, what if she could find him now, she's been awakened to the illusion, now more than ever.

One final test.

Giving the cockpit one last look, her eyes lingering for a second too long, she got up and wandered along. 

She scanned around the exhibit and there she saw it, a path of light that lead to a familiar place.

It was designed after the radio room in that Hydra headquarters in the alps, overlooking the massive hangar hidden inside the mountain. Quietly, she neatly tugged on the seat and hesitantly placed her finger on the receiver. It was with a heart wrenching stifled sob that she knew she was in the right place when the radio came back to life.

“ _Peggy, this is my choice_.”

There was silence, the sound of air rushing into the cabin. “ _Peggy_?”

She pressed back on the receiver. “I’m here.”

She steeled herself for the words that came next. “ _I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance_.”

Peggy clung to the microphone and waited with bated breath for the cackling of the static. With hurried, rushed movement, she tearily smiled. “Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“ _You got it_.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

Steve fumbled and hesitated, just as she remembered. Because he was never truly comfortable making a promise he knew he couldn’t keep. A gentleman until the very end, never one to give his word lightly. So, instead, he deflected weakly, hoping that it would be a real issue instead of an excuse to avoid the inevitable: “ _You know, I still don’t know how to dance_.” And it pained her, because they never did dance.

Peggy closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. They never did get to dance. “I’ll show you how. Just be there.” She whispered.

“ _We’ll have the band play something slow_.” He said breathlessly, nearly shouting over the rush of wind. “ _I’d hate to step on your_ —”

And that was it. The signal was cut and there was only static to play out.

Unable to stop herself, Peggy pressed on the receiver. “Steve?” she called out only to be met with nothing. “Steve?”

But there was still nothing.

Hunched against the equipment, with shaking fingers, she pressed once more at the receiver. Hoping against all hope that even in this illusion, maybe, he would answer. “Steve?”

She closed her eyes and there was a shift in the room.

No longer was the room cold.

“Peggy?”


	12. CHAPTER XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Peggy?”
> 
> In all her life, Peggy never felt so grateful to see Howard standing before her.

**East Berlin, Soviet Germany**   
**March 3, 1962**

* * *

“Peggy?”

In all her life, Peggy never felt so grateful to see Howard standing before her. But her joy and relief was short-lived—Howard was sporting a nasty looking gash that oozed a bright red just beneath his hairline and he looked pale and thin.

“Howard?” she inched forward, taking her friend into the tightest embrace she could give him—which wasn’t much as her arms wobbled in hunger and weakness. “How long was I out?”

“ _Out_?” Howard echoed in confusion and amazement. “Pal, you weren’t out. You were wide awake and open only it wasn’t you. It was the—”

Peggy cut him with a warring look of panic and alertness when there was a sound of clutter. Howard himself paled and grabbed the rebar he had previously armed himself with. “How many are we dealing with?”

“No, pal, we have to go.”

Peggy looked around. Long and winding hallways, heavily caked in concrete, reinforced, no doubt. It was an arena, a maze. “How many?”

“Just one, Peg, but you don’t—”

Peggy’s feet tapped against another rebar and she quickly took it into her hands. A moment of confusion danced in her eyes. Why in the world were there so many rusty rebars littered on the ground?

“We can handle one.”

Howard shook his head furiously. “No. Under any circumstances do we handle him.” Peggy gave him a quizzical look when the sound of heavy feet sounded. It was only then, in a heat of a shout, did she understand why. She recognized that voice.

Glowing blue eyes now shone at the distance. “No.”

It was Daniel, limp noticeable but he went with every step, not stopping with his swiping and scratching at the wind with a fury and a vengeance she never saw in him.

Daniel was almost animalistic in his rage, a feral glare in his eyes.

He was injected with the essence. “Run!” Howard yelled and Peggy saw exactly why there were so many rebars left lying—Peggy saw Daniel, in a fit of his anger, slam his fist against the concrete wall and left a gaping hole, pieces of concrete crumbling in his strength, leaving an exposed and bent piece of rebar.

The djinn’s extract gave strength.

That was how Hartley’s wind pipe was broken in seven different angles. She had strength from the essence.

Howard grabbed her arm just as Daniel swung his arm at the space where she had once been. It didn’t help that she had been weak, starved for what felt like days and weary beyond belief.

“How do we stop him?” she yelled whilst running, chest heaving and burning with the lack of oxygen.

“Without having our brains decorate the walls?” there was another loud thud, another wall that sported a gaping hole courtesy of Daniel’s newfound strength from the essence.

“Howard!”

In his defense, he did hold up his arms in surrender. “What?” he asked out loud, scratching just the outline of his mustache. “Not everybody could be a damn good agent or a toxin-enhanced intelligence chief!” he exclaimed, lifting his wounded hand. “I’m a hundred-ninety pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, dark humor is my only defense.”

Then, Peggy’s eyes zeroed in on Howard. “Why is my husband here?” she asked, voice low but incredulous and Howard balked, paling even more if possible, mouth gaping open and close like a fish.

“Oh. ,” He deflated. “You noticed that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I did, now tell me why.”

“He asked. You were missing, Pegs. It’s already way after New Year.” Her stomach sank. Her children spent Christmas without her, New Year without her. Her hopes of one last holiday with her family together was dashed. “And I didn’t know if you were still alive or if you were dead in some ditch!”

All because she didn’t have the courage to face Daniel.

Then, the anger settled in. “You brought Daniel to Germany?!” a thousand horrible scenarios ran in her mind, her children all alone—what if she had died, or Daniel, or the both of them?

“Peggy, you don’t understand. You were missing for more than a week. I had no way to contact you, you weren’t checking in and Danny started asking after you. When he learned, he flew out here to find you.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

Howard shook his head. “You’re right, it’s not mine.” His gaze wandered into the dark hallway, swallowing deep and shuddered, the glowing blue eyes in the distance clearly focused on them. “It’s his.”

Peggy spun around, trying to find a way out, but there was none. They were at a dead end.

“How did you snap me out, Howard?”

“Snap you out?” he echoed incredulously. “You did that all by yourself!”

Peggy shook her head, facing him momentarily as Daniel began to make his way towards them, menacingly slow as if to relish in the feel of killing them both. “No.” She confessed. “I heard your voice while I was with St—” her mouth ran shut.

“With who?”

“Steve. He didn’t belong in the reality,” her mind processed the details. “We need to make him realize a detail in his illusion that’s not here in our reality!”

“The say what now?”

“It’s the way to snap out of the illusion, Howard.” She paced around. In her dream, she was happily married to Steve, married with children.

It would be difficult with Daniel. Peggy could envision his dream. She didn’t spend a decade married to him without truly knowing her husband. His version of reality would be so close to its actual state, all but—

“Howard, do you have my personal effects?”

His brows furrowed together in confusion. “Personal effects? Now isn’t—”

Her fingers wandered around until she examined her hand. Ever since the fight, the one that ended with him sleeping in the city safehouse, she stopped wearing the ring.

Speaking of Daniel, his heavy breathing now sounded raspier and Peggy felt her body fall. She was weak, not much food in her system for days or weeks on end, little water, no doubt. But if she could just get him to snap out of the illusion, maybe she could get out of this alive.

Or, at the very least, buy Howard enough time to escape this place. 

Even with her friend’s protest, she stepped closer to Daniel. His teeth were gritted and beads of sweat framed his forehead. He looked thin, his cheeks were hollowed out and bags of darkness now hung under his eyes. Her heart ached for him—he looked terrible.

“Daniel—” he swung his arm out, barely hitting her as his fist slammed against the wall. His fist was already bleeding, if the metallic scent was anything to go by with. He looked angry, but at the same time, in his eyes that she grew to know, she saw something deeper and more vulnerable.

He was scared—scared like he was losing everything he knew.

Getting down on her knees, Daniel froze. Slowly, she held her hand up. “Daniel, I don’t know if you could hear me.” Then, a breathless chuckle. “But heaven almighty, I bloody well hope that you _do_.”

She imagined, for a second, if this is what Howard did to get her to snap out of the illusion.

“I need you to listen to me—the past few months, they’ve been horrible and I’ve no excuse.” Daniel tried to protest against her words, his fist clenching and his jaw had locked. “I’m truly sorry, and I know we’ve said things that hurt one another, but no matter how bleak things may seem to be, I will always love you, my darling.”

At this, this blessed moment, Daniel softened. His shoulders went slump and Peggy closed her eyes, not sure what to anticipate. Least to say, she was surprised, a small gasp leaving her lips when she felt a warmth take her hand.

Daniel took her hand in his, his fingers just trailing the curve of her ring finger. There was no band of silver and gold around it.

“Peggy?” Daniel whispered hoarse before yelling out in pain, the memory of his limp now returned with a vengeance. A guttural sob broke through the air as it wracked his entire body. She caught him with a croon, taking him into her arms and lulled him to sleep.

“We’ll be alright now, Daniel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is nearing its end. Just two more chapters, I guess.


	13. CHAPTER XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the quarantine, I am now finishing this story.

**Bellevue Hospital Center**   
**New York City, New York**   
**March 28, 1962**

* * *

Daniel looked up from the hospital bed, looking like he was a thousand miles away.

The debacle in Germany, miraculously, didn’t result in any high-profile international fallout. Chet threw his hands into the mix to ensure that there would be no diplomatic repercussions for SHIELD and Germany. And as soon as they could, Howard flew them back home to recover and convalesce properly stateside.

After making sure that her children were fine, a teary reunion that resulted in a promise and a resolve to never forget what truly drove her will to fight, she visited Daniel. Peggy had just narrowly missed the troop of siblings who came to visit him in the hospital, thankfully avoiding the hopeful glances and carefully worded out phrases of a reconciliation between them.

When she entered the room, she found him unsettled but awake.

She frowned at him, his cheeks looked sunken in, still resembling more a ghoul than a human being. She pushed a box of pastries and a fruit basket courtesy of Howard towards him, inching her chair closer to him. “Please,” she whispered, angling her gaze towards the glass of water. “Eat or drink something.”

He looked over, eyes wantonly searching hers before letting out a strangled sob. He looked up to the ceiling and she wished, for a moment, there wasn’t anything between them, the distance and the baggage and the hurt that hung between. Them.

That the baggage and weight they carried with them would disappear for a moment and she would be the Peggy Carter he met on that first day and he would be the Daniel Sousa who she saw inside that office.

A nagging feeling begged her to be that woman. The Peggy Carter in his illusion. 

But it was no use. It wouldn’t help. That was a reality never meant to be, just as her illusion was just that—a trick of the toxin.

So, instead of insisting, she sighed. “Sometimes, it doesn’t feel right,” she didn’t to glance over to see the minute, almost non-existent nod. The lingering stare on his face that asked how on earth did she know and the painful realization that she must have been like him, subject to the poison of the djinn, living in a delusion that she wanted to be real.

It was also the look that dawned on him when he realized life with him wasn’t the delusion she had.

“Like you’re doubting if you’re back in the real world. Sometimes, I find myself waking up and calling out for James—my son, in the dream—only to realize, there never was a James.”

“He’s real, you know.” Daniel croaked out. Eyes red-rimmed, he turned to her and confided, low and steady. “They’re all real. The ones we saw, lived for in a month, they were _real_.” And Peggy’s mouth hung—the Peggy he was married to, in that dream, to him, was real.

The life was real, and he lost it in a matter of seconds.

And for the first time, they sat in a singular plane of understanding.

The meaning did not go unnoticed. It was almost immediately that she understood. The people they spent with was real, the loss was real.

“She must have been a lovely woman.” And she meant it. _That_ Peggy Carter must have been a better person. Because she loved him, unconditionally, and without reservation. 

“You love him.” His voice broken, a sympathy and empathy in his quaking tone because now, as he wove his fingers in hers, he understood the pain. He finally understood what it was like to have loved Steve—still love him—and a chance to have it all back. To have lost, found again, and lost forever.

A shared understanding of the grief that hung within.

“I do.” Because there’s no more lying. There would be no use in lying, not after seeing that wish play out in more vivid realities. “I love Steve.”

He laughed humorlessly. “I love that idea of you.” The message, despite unspoken, was clear—the version of her that loved him more than Steve.

“What a pair we are,” she chuckled breathlessly. “I, hopelessly in love with the dead national treasure and you hopelessly in love with a version of me that wasn’t so in love with said dead national treasure.” She sighed, wishing for tactfulness, “I wish you could forgive me.”

He gave her an odd look, one of fondness. “I wouldn’t. Because there’s nothing to forgive.”

“You’re a kind man, Daniel,” and she meant in, leaning in for a kiss. It felt like a funeral, honestly, that one last kiss before she said goodbye, how his hands just lingered on hers, a breathless question that asked her to stay even though, they knew, they couldn’t.

A question they knew, if given the wrong answer, would end up the same place where they are now.

“I hope you find him, one day.” He says earnestly, without a string of malice or bad intention. “And I hope he realizes just how lucky he is to have a woman like you, like Peggy Carter, who loves him unconditionally.”

“And I hope you find that woman, the one who you deserve, the one who deserves the love you give.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue left!


	14. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a massive time skip again. Anyways, enjoy!

**Central Park**   
**New York City, New York**   
**July 4, 1962**

* * *

Peggy cherished the feel of leaves crunching under her heel as she crossed Central Park, just pausing as she reached a shadow of a monument planted squarely upon the middle.

She looked up and saw sunlight reflecting off the statue’s surface, its glare greatly marring her vision, but not enough to block her view of his face.

“Hello, my darling.”

Of all the Captain America monuments she’s seen, this was her favourite because it rang true to who Steve actually was.

There was a statue built in his honor over in DC. She remembered its unveiling because Chet Phillips had been invited as a guest of honor. The statue featured Steve, mid-run into battle, ready to rain an unholy hail of bullets down on the enemy.

Peggy shook her head, that wasn’t the Steve she knew. He hated bullies.

The one in LA was much worse. He was dressed in that ridiculous USO costume, the one he wore when fulfilling his contractual series of 24 films for Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer studios. The statue had that salute and with the statue, for some reason, she could very easily hear in the back of her head the misogynistic voice of that Captain America voice-actor in that bloody radio programme.

But the one in New York was the exception to all those inaccuracies.

Instead of rushing into battle or his USO-Hollywood stint career, the statue placed in his honor actually depicted him. The statue was commissioned by former neighbors and co-workers from his stint at an advertising agency, classmates and those who he had saved. They all took up to the collection and had the statue made based from actual soldiers’ testimonies and the accounts of the numerous orphanages the 107th passed by where Steve would repeatedly rally up the men to give their chocolate bars and milk tablets. 

In the middle of Central Park, unlike most of the monuments in his honor, was sitting down on a bench. Inside his palm was the ever-perpetual bar of Hershey’s he always kept in stack and he was captured in a moment of lively conversation with a child. 

To his side on the bench was an opened notebook faced down. She could imagine the thoughts coursing though his mind, what sight he’s wanting to immortalize within the pages of his sketchbook.

She could imagine his laughter, his smile.

“It’s been very long since I last visited,” she began conversationally, looking up to see Steve’s smiling gaze meet hers. “I’m actually in quite a hurry, you see,” she leaned in, almost conspiratorially as if someone might overhear, “Howard’s over in California and he’s going to propose.”

Then, a sad smile.

A part of her thought he knew, assumed that he knew Maria and how she kept Howard on his toes. There was a longing that he should know. But he couldn’t possibly.

“Her name’s Maria Carbonell. I think she’s a marvelous woman, a perfect match for Howard.” And then, she thinks but dare not say out loud, _you would have liked her, too_.

“Anyways, he’s gathered the entire family over to LA, help with his intricate plans to propose.” She doesn’t mention, however, that in her illusion, they were already married. Howard had a son, young Anthony. She doesn’t mention how, if they would ever have a child, Peggy would take Maria to a side and ask if the name _Anthony_ would be in the cards.

Peggy wouldn’t say it out loud, but in the dream, she and Steve were the godparents. While Peggy could anticipate Howard asking her to be the godmother of any future child, she couldn’t quite distance the vision to the dream she once had.

She would imagine, at the christening, that Steve would stand by her side, smiling as they accept their new responsibility, the newest addition to their family.

“If she says _yes_ ,” Peggy continues, smiling despite herself, “the wedding will be held in December.” She twists the spot where her ring was and sighed. “It goes without saying that you and your top squad are reserved a table. All you have to do is show up.”

She paused, staring at his smiling statue.

The sun was already setting, no doubt the children will be excited to phone her, asking if she will be ready to leave New York for a lengthy flight to join them at Howard’s Malibu mansion.

“I’ve actually got to leave now, darling.” She offered, looking over her shoulder from whence she came. “It’s going to get awfully loud, and I do have to finish up some paperwork at the office, not to mention packing. . .”

She trailed off until she surged forward. The park would soon be filled with attendees of the lightshow. And she would have to get ready if she wanted to be at the proposal on time.

“Anyways, my darling, if Maria accepts Howard,” there was no question, in Peggy’s eyes, because Maria and Howard together just made sense. Seeing them together was right and Peggy had no doubt that Maria would say yes. “Howard thinks he’s being romantic by setting any possible date by the 25th of December. Either way, you have a standing invitation.”

Peggy reached inside her pocket and produced a compass. She was one in the display of a thrift shop, antique, from the great war. She remembers how Steve regret having sold off most of the mementos his father had to get by.

She clicked the compass open and smiled. “If you do decide to join,” she gave a watery smile, gazing at the compass and placed a copy of the clipping she once gave him, “I trust that you won’t be lost.” Peggy gingerly placed the compass on the bench.

Breathing in deeply, she gave the statue one last look. “Goodbye, my darling.” She grouped her three fingers together like a girl scout salute and pressed them against her lips.

Nearing forward once again, Peggy then pressed her fingers upon Steve’s cheeks, and for a moment, the statue wasn’t cold and she nearly imagined the same warmth he perpetually exuded. She pretended, in the moment, that her fingers met his face, his soft skin, and he sunk into her touch. She would imagine, as her eyes fluttered shut, drowning out the noise of bustling city's endless life, that he would stay, just at her reach as she greets him:

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!
> 
> Finally finished this clusterfuck of a fanfiction. It's been real, a wildride. 
> 
> Hope everyone stays safe!

**Author's Note:**

> For those unaware of djinns, they're actually these awesome mythological creatures. They were featured in Supernatural.
> 
> Anyways, in SPN, djinns have the ability to whammy people in to a fantasy universe, an alternate reality. The alternate reality isn't their wish, per se, rather the outcome of their wish:
> 
> Peggy's wish = Steve never died in the Valkyrie
> 
> Peggy's alternate reality = A family with Steve


End file.
